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HEAR THE DANCING
The Sleeping Beauty
February 24, 2007
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What Beauty Sounds Like By Janice Berman
"Hear the Dancing," the title of this column — possibly to become a regular feature of San Francisco Classical Voice that examines the music in dance — comes from a quote by George Balanchine, cofounder of the New York City Ballet. It's the summation of a worthy goal from that most musical of choreographers: "See the music, hear the dancing."
It's appropriate, then, to launch this adventure with a review of San Francisco Ballet's Sleeping Beauty, at the War Memorial Opera House through Saturday. Not only is it one of the best ballets Tchaikovsky ever wrote, it's one of the best pieces of music. I was going to say "... that he ever wrote," but would rather leave it the way it is. Certainly, it drew from Marius Petipa some of his most inspired dancemaking.
As choreographed by Helgi Tomasson after Petipa, this version thrums beneath the weight of Imperial Russia and Royalist France. It's freighted with powdered wigs, jewels, and brocades. It's formal, with its hierarchy of king and queen, prince and princess, dukes and duchesses, footmen and attendants. It's heavy, yet it's light and bright: capricious with its dancing pussycats, fluttering Bluebird, avenging and beneficent fairies. Brightest of all, naturally, is Princess Aurora, sweet 16, pretty in pink, ever surprised at her wonderful life.
Yuan Yuan Tan as Princess Aurora in Tomasson's Sleeping Beauty Photo by Erik Tomasson
Yuan Yuan Tan was Saturday night's Aurora. (The others this week, potentially a splendiferous array, are Rachel Viselli, in her role debut; Tina LeBlanc; and Vanessa Zahorian.) Tan has reached maturity in this company, and it has given her Aurora a brilliance beyond those nearly endless extensions in supple, unfolding développés, that pizzicato pointwork. She breathes the music and she never blurs it. Tiit Helimets, her Prince Desiré, is as secure and gallant a partner as any Aurora could ever wish, with great elevation in his solos. The wonderful Muriel Maffre was Saturday night's kindly, yet elegant, Lilac Fairy. This is a Sleeping Beauty without a Carabosse. The notable character dancer Anita Paciotti is, instead, the Fairy of Darkness — and a fire-breathing one at that, her ire igniting sparkling explosives whose booms arrive smartly on the downbeat.
Helgi Tomasson, the Ballet's artistic director, unveiled his Sleeping Beauty in 1990, the ballet's centennial. He beat Balanchine's company by a year. The New York City Ballet, where Tomasson was a choreographic protégé of Balanchine's as well as a most notable (not to mention noble) principal dancer before heading to San Francisco, didn't mount a production until 1991. Reportedly, Tomasson waited until his company was ready before staging Sleeping Beauty. He might have delayed until he believed his dancers were artistically unified and strong, but he might also have been considering the costs of the production, designed by the late Jens-Jacob Worsaae, which are beyond significant. (The company's souvenir book mentions that two Bluebird and two cat tutus, alone, checked in at $20,000.) Certainly, last Saturday night everything was perfectly in place, most particularly Music Director Martin West's conducting. West took over the Ballet Orchestra from Andrew Mogrelia, whose departure from the San Francisco Ballet after just two years of excellent work was something of a head-scratcher. West, like Mogrelia, is an experienced ballet conductor, and he continues as principal conductor of the English National Ballet. With West on the podium, both dancers and musicians displayed an extraordinary sense of fluidity and rapport. The corps de ballet was a unified body, responding as one to the demands of the score. The Fairies — with Molly Smolen's Fairy of Courage a particular standout — sparkled as individuals, yet maintained an underlying ribbon of color and sheen. They never let the music down, and vice versa. Dance reviewers, if they're lucky, see many productions of Sleeping Beauty. But this is the one whose afterimages include after-sounds: the drumming foreboding of the overture, the sweeping strings in the Garland Dance, the harp glissandi in the Vision scene, the sly oboe as Puss in Boots. I was never able to remember the sound of the City Ballet's version — which came to fruition under Balanchine's successor, Peter Martins — despite its many glories and fine artists. The San Francisco Ballet's version has a warmer, deeper quality, a more vivacious spirit. Maybe it's the music I see. Or maybe I'm just hearing the dance.
(Senior Editor Janice Berman assigns and edits features for SFCV. She was previously editor in chief of Dance Magazine, and an editor and senior writer at New York Newsday.)
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